


Defense

by DragonThistle



Series: Days You Think You'll Forget (but I kept a scrapbook full of polaroids) [11]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Clubbing, Drinking, Drunkenness, Flirting, Friends Looking Out For Each Other, Unwanted Advances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 03:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonThistle/pseuds/DragonThistle
Summary: Not all heroes wear capes.Sometimes they're just your best friends.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Days You Think You'll Forget (but I kept a scrapbook full of polaroids) [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959427
Kudos: 13





	Defense

**Author's Note:**

> “There’s so many idiots whose asses I have to kick! I’m gonna have to start carrying a list just to keep track of them all!” -Edward Elric, FullMetal Alchemist 2003

Clubbing really isn’t Tord’s thing.

Going out, partying, drinking, dancing, surrounded by loud people and even louder music, any hopes of focus lost in throbbing bass and flashing lights. 

Definitely not his thing.

But it’s Matt’s birthday and he wanted to go out and they were all feeling generous so. Well. Here they are.

Or rather, here Tord is, sitting alone at a table, watching the dance floor with interest and trepidation. His hands are wrapped around a glass of half finished bramble cocktail, the fruity taste sticky on his tongue and clinging stubbornly to the back of his mouth. It’s his third drink of the night—though the first two had been simple mules—and the alcohol is starting to sit heavy in his system. It’s a warm buzz that dulls his senses and stirs an excited sort of lethargy in him. He kicks his feet in the air, the tall tables and chairs meaning he’s sitting several inches off the floor, and scans the crowded dance floor for his friends. 

He thinks he’s spotted Matt’s vivid red hair when someone flops into the chair next to him.

Expecting it to be Tom (who really only came for the alcohol), Tord turns in his seat, ready to spit out something witty that will distract him from the rest of the club.

But it’s not Tom. It’s not anyone Tord knows at all. 

There’s a stranger in the chair, a tall man with spiky blond hair and a scruff of stubble across his jaw. He’s thin and narrow, all sharp edges and pointed shadows, and he’s smiling at Tord with an interested quirk to his lips. Tord instinctively shrinks back into his trench coat, trying to put some distance between himself and this new person.

“Hi,” The man purrs, silky smooth and dulcet tones, pale lashes fluttering, clearly flirting, “You came in with that tall ginger, right? He’s pretty cute. But I think you’re cuter.” Tord feels a blush flood his features, burning on his cheeks, and he hunches his shoulders to tuck himself into the collar of his coat. The man only leans closer, crossing his arms on the table, his smile widening, “I’m Alex. You got a name? Or should I just call you my Twinkie? ‘Cause you’re lookin’ like a snack~”

Tord’s blush grows even fiercer, setting his ears on fire and making his skin prickle. His heart is pounding for all the wrong reasons, his palms sweating, the room feeling suddenly cavernous and claustrophobic at the same time. The music and voices roar in his ears and there’s a terrible sensation like everyone in the club is staring at him, pinning him down, a butterfly skewered and on display so everyone can see its beautiful flaws. Tord’s stomach churns. He opens his mouth, closes it again, glances away for a sign of escape, sees none, and manages to squeeze out,

“T-Tord. My—I’m Tord.”

“Ooooh, strong name for such a little thing. Wanna go somewhere quieter? Continue this conversation more…intimately?” Alex reaches out for Tord’s face and Tord nearly throws himself backwards off the chair. He wants to but he’s frozen stiff, watching in horrifying slow motion as this stranger reaches towards him. Tord’s shaking hands are gripped on either side of the seat, knuckles white, his breath rapid fire through his nose, his jaw clenched. The entire universe narrows into a pinpoint of terror, focusing on a stranger’s slim fingers coming closer and closer and Tord can smell the candy-sticky scent of tequila on the man’s fingertips and he’s entirely too close and—

Someone slamming an empty drink onto the tabletop hard enough to rattle it makes them both jump.

Alex’s hand curls away and Tord loosens ever so slightly in relief. His gaze darts to the newcomer and he almost melts off his seat.

Tom is glaring over the table at Alex, his fist still clenched around the empty lager glass. He’s obviously drunk, tilting ever so slightly from where he’s half perched on another chair, but his threatening look is steady and focused.

“Can we help you?” Alex’s voice is dripping with utter disgust, his lip curling into a dismissive sneer.

“Yeah,” Tom grunts in return, ever the master of words, “Fuck off.”

“ _Excuse_ me!?” Alex draws himself up and he’s tall, even sitting down, he’s all lean limbs and taut anger. Tord swallows and the lump in his throat crushes his windpipe. 

“You heard me,” Tom growls and maybe it’s the dazzling lights but his teeth are looking a little sharper, “Fuck the hell off.”

“Go find a corner to piss in, chav,” Alex snaps in reply.

Tom bristles, literally, the seams of his t-shirt tightening as his muscles bulge with alcohol fueled rage, the monster inside him just begging for a fight. Tord shifts in his seat, his voice cracking as he forces air through his lungs,

“Tom—don’t—“

“Hey, chums, everything okay?” 

Oh thank god, it’s Matt. 

He’s skipped up into the space between Tom and Tord’s chairs, beaming innocently enough with his hands on his hips and his cheeks flushed from the dance floor. His hair is mussed and there’s a streak of glitter and fluorescent paint on the side of his face.

Alex’s expression sours further as yet another person comes along to interrupt him, “Everything’s fine. The drunk was just leaving.” Alex shoots Tom a glare and Tom snorts in dismissal. Tension simmers on the surface of the pot, threatening to boil over. 

Tord unconsciously grabs a fistful of Matt’s tanktop. Matt glances at him and drops an arm across the back of Tord’s chair, leaning a little further into Alex’s space, getting between him and Tom.

“You harassing my brothers?” Matt asks, his smile thinning, his posture defensive and the cant of his head drawing Alex’s attention away from the grumbling Tom. 

“Brothers?” Alex questions, raising an eyebrow, “You’re kidding, right? You’re probably fucking both of these twinks you soulless ginger whor—“

“I really don’t want to get us banned from another club,” Says a voice, “But if you finish that sentence, we are definitely going to have a problem.”

Alex turns and his bravado slips.

He’s tall, sure, as tall as Matt, their height nearly matched.

But Edd is looming over him. Literally looming. Dangerously tall, backlit by the dark purple-red of the bar lights, looking down his nose at the other man. He’s smiling but it’s a mean smile, a nasty little smirk that promises something much, much worse than a simple punch in the face.

Alex sputters, “You—what—I’m not—“

Edd leans down, getting right in the man’s face, “Leave my brothers alone, asshole. As in, go. Away. Now.”

There’s a tense moment, a brief glare-down between Alex and Edd. Then Alex scoffs, mutters something about polyamorous fuck buddies, and stomps off. Edd glares after him, only looking away when Alex has vanished into the crowd milling about the bar. His shoulders sag and he glances between his friends, his gaze settling on Tord, who is all but trying to disappear into his coat. His hands are shaking where they’re clutching his lapels.

“I’m getting bored,” Matt says suddenly, slumping against the table, his hip cocked and a pout on his face, “And tired. I wanna go home now. Can we go home and watch a movie? I wanna watch a movie.”

“Figures,” Tom grunts, shoving his empty glass around the table with a grin that’s more a sneer, “You make a big fuss about going out for your birthday and then you get tired and wanna go home and whine like a little toddler. What a brat.”

“Heeyy, it’s my birthday! You have to be nice to me!”

“Buy me another drink and we’ll talk about it.”

“Aren’t you sloshed enough already?” Edd teases, prodding Tom away from the table by poking him in the ribs, “Come on, let’s go home before you start throwing up. I’m tired anyway.”

Tom’s grumbling and shuffling his feet around the table but is inevitably driven towards the doors by Edd’s constant harassment. Tord oozes off his chair with a nervous glance at the bar, and then at Matt who’s picking through the cold basket of chips on their table through something left to snack on.

“Um,” Tord’s mouth feels dry, “Are—are you sure you want to leave? I mean, it’s fine, I don’t—we can stay—I know you really wanted to come here…”

“Nah,” Matt pops a soggy looking chip into his mouth and smiles at Tord, “I’m getting tired too. I wanna wind down. Watch a movie. Eat some popcorn. Maybe I’ll convince Edd to get a smoothie on the way home. Come on, let’s get out of here.” He hooks an arm through Tord’s and skips around the dance floor, dragging them both out in the balmy summer night before Tord can register what’s happened.

Edd and Tom are bickering back and forth in the parking lot, grinning at one another. Tom aims a kick at Edd’s shin and Edd steps out of his reach, making Tom fall against a car. He drunkenly chases Edd down a row of cars while Edd laughs at him. Tord instantly feels the tension seeping out of him, his tightened spine uncurling and his shoulders loosening as the relative calm and quiet of the dark outdoors settles around him. The air is fresher out here, still and without a mass of writhing bodies and thumping bass to stir up the calm and quiet. 

“Thanks…” He breathes the word out in a sigh of relief, flushes pink under sodium yellow streetlights at his inadvertent confession. He’s not some damsel in distress that needs his friends to rescue him, he’s just…sometimes too many strangers with too much noise is a lot, that’s all.

“For what?” Matt blinks and in the brighter lights of the lot, there’s more glitter in his hair and down his front too.

“Um,” Tord struggles to think of an excuse, “The, uh, letting me tag along. I guess.”

Matt chuckles, “Uh, yeah, you’re my friend. I want my friends to celebrate my birthday with me!”

They both know what Tord had actually been thanking him for. But they don’t need to say it. 

Tord still goes out of his way to make Matt his favorite extra spicy taco popcorn when they get home. And that says enough for both of them.


End file.
